


Hot Belly

by coolbreeze1



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2011-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-27 07:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbreeze1/pseuds/coolbreeze1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a jumper crash story! But mostly it's the team being all teamy together trying to get out of the crashed jumper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Belly

* * *

The first thing John became aware of was Rodney’s voice—loud and piercing and panicked.

“He’s still unconscious. Why is he still unconscious? Oh, God, I think I broke something in my back.”

Something hard and unforgiving was pressing against John’s chest and stomach, and a rough surface was digging into his cheeks and forehead. The metallic tang of blood coated his tongue.

“Do not move him until we are sure he has suffered no spinal injuries. Perhaps you should sit as well,” Teyla called out. She sounded close. John’s mind processed the words slowly. Someone was hurt. Rodney? He’d hurt his back? Where were they?

“He’s bleeding. I can see blood on the console. Sheppard, wake up!”

Oh, they were talking about him. He should sit up, open his eyes, tell them he actually wasn’t unconscious. He tensed, intending to push away from the surface he was sprawled across, then groaned as pain clamped down like a vise around his entire upper body.

“Finally,” Rodney breathed. “Don’t move.”

John felt hands on his shoulders, keeping him in place, and he still hadn’t managed to open his eyes. “What?”

Someone spit out a curse behind him. Ronon. Teyla mumbled an apology a few seconds later and Rodney’s hands on John’s back shifted, like he was turning around to look at his teammates. John felt blood dripping from his nose and running over his lips, into his mouth, and he forced open his eyes.

Jumper. He was slumped over the console. He almost nodded his head as the memories flowed back. They’d just emerged on this planet, scanning the continent for about ten minutes before the sensors had picked something up in the atmosphere. Within seconds, blaring alarms had erupted, then abruptly cut out as half the power in the jumper simply disappeared.

Rodney was back, leaning over him. “That is a lot of blood,” he said, his breath warm against the back of John’s neck. “Teyla, help me.”

John scowled at the hovering. He did not think his personal space boundaries were that unreasonable, and being able to feel Rodney breathing on him was well past that line. With a grunt, he pushed himself up, intent on telling everyone to back off a little and give him some space to think.

“John, wait!” Teyla called out.

Oh, crap. Pain ripped through his body at the movement, and he moaned. His arms began to shake halfway up, threatening to send him back to his face-plant sprawl on the console. He felt hands on either side of him catch him, then slowly lift him up and ease him back into his seat.

Maybe he’d forgive the breach of personal space this time. “Ow,” he muttered.

“Where are you hurt?”

His eyes had slid closed, but he forced them open again. He saw the jumper console in front of him covered in blood, then a murky greenish-yellow haze out the front screen. Fresh blood was dripping from his nose in a steady line and running down his neck.

“John? Where are you hurt?” Teyla asked again, moving into view on his right.

Hadn’t Rodney been there a second ago? Where was Rodney? He blinked, taking in a shuddering breath and forcing himself to focus. Teyla had asked him something. Hurt—where was he hurt.

“Hurt,” he repeated. “Uh…”

Where was he hurt? Teyla was looking at him with open concern, and John figured she probably wanted something a little more specific than “everywhere.”

“Headache, “ he said. He blinked again, forcing himself to catalog his injuries. They’d crashed and he needed to get his act together, take stock of their situation. He raised a hand to rub against his chest where he must have slammed into the jumper control on impact. “Chest and stomach hurt, but breathing’s okay.”

“What about your back or neck?”

He paused, focusing on those areas for a moment, then breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. No pain there. Legs are okay. And arms.”

Teyla looked as relieved as John felt, and she squeezed his arm in reassurance.

“What’s the sit-rep?” he asked, spitting out a dribble of blood still flowing from his nose.

“We crashed,” Rodney answered behind him.

Ronon grunted. “Obviously.”

Teyla had moved out of sight, but John could hear her rifling through a bag directly behind him. He let himself relax a little more in his chair, and he stared mesmerized out the front of the jumper. He was zoning out. He could feel it, and he drew in a deep breath, using the bruising pain in his chest and gut to keep him focused on the moment.

“You guys hurt?” he asked, swiveling his seat toward them.

Rodney answered first. “My entire body hurts from being thrown all over the jumper, and Ronon sliced his head open.”

Ronon sat on the edge of the bench in the back, leaning into the forward cockpit with a scowl on his face. He had black eye, and white bandage taped to his head spotted with red, but otherwise looked okay. Teyla pulled out a wad of gauze from an open med kit and pressed it to John’s upper lip, and neither she nor Rodney looked seriously injured. John mumbled a thanks, holding the gauze in place.

“Most of the impact of the crash was on yours and Ronon’s side of the jumper,” she said, returning her focus to the medical kit spread out on the co-pilot’s side of the jumper. “Rodney and I suffered minor bruising, but otherwise we are fine.”

“We really need to put seatbelts in these things,” John mumbled. He shook his head, then froze, wincing, and pressed the gauze harder against the blood flowing from his nose.

“You really need to stop crashing these things.”

John rolled his eyes at the scientist’s snapping comment. “I didn’t crash,” he answered. “I prefer ‘rapid yet controlled descent.’”

“Way to control to the bottom of a lake.”

John jerked around, staring out at the hazy view in front of him. “What?”

“Rodney, that is not helping.”

“That clear patch you were aiming for? It was a lake, and we sank like a rock to the bottom.”

“Better than hitting a forest of trees,” Ronon growled behind him.

Rodney pointed his finger out the window. “No. Better is not crashing at all.”

Arguing was not going to get them anywhere. John sighed. “Rodney—”

“No, John. We are stuck in a jumper at the bottom of a lake, with millions of gallons of water between us and breathable air. Again. How many times do I have to crash into water and then sit around for hours waiting for the inevitable drowning?” He deflated suddenly, dropping into the seat behind the co-pilot’s. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I am a little bit claustrophobic!”

John leaned forward, studying the murky water. “How deep?”

“Deep enough,” Rodney muttered.

Teyla moved to the front of the jumper and leaned forward until her face was inches from the window. “I can almost see the surface.”

“Really?” Rodney asked. “Oh, thank god.”

“Ronon, you okay?” John asked, leaning back. His head was really starting to pound, and while he didn’t want Rodney to freak out any more than he was, the idea that they were at the bottom of a lake deep enough that they couldn’t quite see the surface was a serious problem.

“Cracked my head. I’ll live. You?”

“Slammed into that console pretty good. Think I’m okay.” He looked over at Rodney. “Any chance we can get this rock of a space craft back online and fly out of this lake.”

Rodney had stepped forward next to Teyla to look out the window, but at John’s question he dropped down in the co-pilot’s seat with a sigh. John closed his eyes as Rodney poked at the console, opening them only when he heard the other man sigh deeply.

“Power levels are minimal. We’ve got life support, temperature controls, lights.”

“Communications?” Teyla asked. She’d slid back into the seat behind Rodney and was massaging her neck and shoulders.

“No. No to drive thrusters, navigation, and sensors, too. Half the systems are just…dead. So’s my laptop, by the way.” He leaned back and swung his chair around to face the rest of the team.

John pulled the gauze away from his nose and breathed carefully through the nostril. The blood seemed to have stopped for now. “Now what?”

Rodney snapped his fingers, sitting up straight. “Right before we crashed, I picked up on something.”

John blinked, replaying what he remembered of the flight. They’d been cruising high in the atmosphere, then there’d been alarms, then the alarms had cut out and they’d crashed. Except that he didn’t remember the crashing part. He’d guided the jumper down toward the lake obviously. He shook his head, drawing the memory up again and trying to recall specifically what the HUD had shown. He remembered the outline of the continent, the jumper’s systems cataloguing the square mileage, the vegetation, the atmosphere… Wait…

“I remember that. It was moving fast, like a wave or an energy blast. The sensors caught it for a split second before the jumper when dark.”

“Someone shot us down?” Ronon asked.

“Sshh…” Rodney said.

John looked over to see him sitting straight in his chair with his eyes closed, his hands held out in front of him and his fingers moving like he was typing. They paused, Rodney’s face scrunched up in concentration, and then his fingers wiggled again.

“Are you typing on an imaginary laptop?” John finally asked.

Rodney answered without opening his eyes, or interrupting his pretend typing. “I told you, mine is dead. I’m trying to recall the exact readout right before it went dark…”

Teyla stood and held out a bag for the wad of bloody gauze John still held in his hand. “Your nose has stopped bleeding. Are you sure you are otherwise alright?”

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus, and I’ll probably feel like a train wreck tomorrow, but otherwise I’m fine.”

Teyla frowned then glanced at the open med kit like there was something else in there she should pull out and inflict on him. He twisted and grimaced at the throng of bruises he felt growing on his torso.

“Got any Ibuprofen in there?”

Teyla went back to rummaging, digging out packets of Ibuprofen for all of them. Ronon stood slowly, and John noticed the way he kept his hands on the walls of the jumper. He disappeared into the back of the jumper, reappearing seconds later with a canteen and handing it to John. John popped his pills, downing them with a swig from the canteen. The water tasted refreshing going down, but his stomach coiled in on itself the second the cool liquid hit his gut, and he swallowed against the sudden nausea. He shoved the canteen toward Teyla, ignoring the slight shake in his hand.

“Kid World,” Rodney said, raising a finger in the air.

John folded his arms across his body, trying not to look like he was cradling his bruised chest and stomach. “The one with the shield?”

“Did we hit a shield here?” Teyla asked.

“Not exactly,” Rodney asnwered. “The energy readings were similar, but it was more like a pulse that side-swiped us, otherwise we’d be completely dead in the water. Literally.” He stopped, then dropped his hands with a groan. “Why is this happening again?”

“Rodney, focus,” John said, his voice sharp. “Do we have enough power to get out of here, or call for help?”

“Maybe, maybe. I’m not sure how badly damaged the jumper is, either from the pulse, the crash, or the water. We’ll have to assess each system individually.”

John rotated his chair back toward the front and reached for the console. “Let’s get to it then.”

* * *

The yellow-green murk gradually dimmed, until the only lights left were the ones in the jumper. Night had fallen, and the lake was a mass of black shadows pressing in on them. John sat back with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes. The Ibuprofen had worked to a point, but after hours of sitting in the chair trying to fix what they could of the jumper, the effects of the painkiller had all but worn off.

“You okay?” Rodney asked.

“A little tired. How long have we been sitting here?”

Rodney shook his head and punched a few more buttons at his console. Two of them flared briefly then went dark and he slumped back in his chair. “This isn’t going to work. No matter how I try to re-route the power, there’s not enough of it to fly us to the surface.”

“So we wait for Atlantis to contact us and figure something out.” John glanced at his watch. “Less than three hours till check in.”

“No, no, no, we can’t do that. What if they get hit by the same pulse we did? They can’t send a jumper.”

“They will try to contact us first,” Teyla said, stepping into the cockpit. “We can warn them before they send help.”

“And we’ll still be stuck at the bottom of the lake.”

“They’ll figure it out, McKay,” Ronon called out from the back.

“And if they can’t come to us,” John said, “we’ll swim.”

Rodney swiveled in his chair to face him. “Swim? Are you insane? We’d have to fill up the jumper with water first just to open the door. We’d be trapped in a dark jumper _full of water._ No way. We are _not_ doing that.” He turned back to his console, his fingers flying over the buttons again. “Maybe there’s some other power I can pull from somewhere. Sheppard, try bringing the thrusters back up again.”

John groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as his headache spiked. Teyla stepped forward, laying a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from grabbing the jumper’s controls and calling up the ship’s systems.

“You have both been working for hours. You should take a break.”

“Sounds good to me,” John answered.

“Rodney?” Teyla persisted.

“What? No, this can’t wait. We have to—”

“Food, McKay,” Ronon growled.

“Let’s get some food, then we can get back to work,” John coaxed. “It’ll clear our heads. Maybe we’ll come up with something faster afterward.”

Rodney twisted out of the chair and stood with a groan, almost before John had finished his sentence. “Fine, but don’t think you can just make me do anything you want by dangling food in front of my—oh, is that a chicken marsala meal? Dibs on that one.”

Teyla was smiled, shaking her head as she watched Rodney hustle to the back of the jumper. John caught her eye and grinned.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, standing up slowly from his chair. “I’ve got some peanut butter power bars stashed away if we need to talk him—”

Pain ripped through his chest, feeling like shards of glass dragging across his torso. He gasped, lunging forward and wrapping one arm around his stomach. His other arm flailed, looking for something to grab onto to stop himself from face-planting on the ground. Teyla grabbed it, holding him upright.

“John?”

“Sorry, moved too fast,” he grunted out. His chest throbbed at the movement, but he forced himself to stand up straight and release his tight grip on Teyla’s hand.

“You are very pale,” she said. She grabbed his elbow as soon as he let go of her hand. The back of the jumper had gone quiet as well, and then Ronon poked his head forward.

“Sheppard?”

John scowled, feeling color flush back into his cheeks. He stepped forward, wriggling out of Teyla’s grasp. “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

Ronon didn’t answer, but he didn’t look convinced at all. He shuffled back to the bench where he’d pulled out four MREs. Rodney had grabbed one of them and was already digging into it. John dropped onto the opposite bench and eased back slowly. After hours of sitting in a chair, his entire body had stiffened up. He rubbed his chest, wondering where Teyla had stashed the med kit and its supply of Ibuprofen.

“This will help,” Teyla said, and it was like she’d read his mind. She dropped a pack of the pills in his hand, as well as a canteen of water.

 _Then again,_ he conceded, _it was fairly obvious how much pain he was in._ He nodded in relief at Teyla, then swallowed the pills with a sip of water. His gut twisted again and he frowned, but he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in hours. He took another small sip, and seconds later swallowed back the growing nausea.

“What do you want, Sheppard?” Ronon asked, waving his hand over the remaining three MREs.

John shrugged. “Don’t care,” he muttered. “Whatever’s left.”

He was not hungry at all, but he took the package Ronon offered—a roast beef sandwich. _Better than the chicken marsala,_ he thought, his nose scrunching up at the smell now filling the entire jumper. They ate in silence, but John managed only about half of his sandwich. He shoved the rest of it in his MRE package and tossed it on the bench next to him.

“Did you get enough? There is more,” Teyla said, eyeing his mostly untouched MRE and looking worried.

John shook his head. “No, I got enough.”

“How long before Atlantis tries to contact us?” Ronon asked.

Rodney glanced at his watch. “They’ll wait at least an hour after we pass our check-in, so we’ve still got hours to kill.”

They lapsed into silence, and John saw the worry, and possibly fear, in all of their expressions. Teyla and Ronon were a little better at hiding it than Rodney, but it was still there, hovering over them.

“If you could have any superhero ability, what would you pick?” he asked suddenly, breaking the sense of gloom that had descended over them.

The reaction was immediate, just as he knew it would be. Teyla groaned, rolling her eyes. Rodney got pensive, tapping his finger against his cheek as he munched on a brownie, and Ronon grinned—one of those wide, unguarded kid grins he rarely let slip through.

“I’d want to fly,” he said.

Rodney raised an eyebrow. “Really? Not super fighting skills?”

“I already have super fighting skills.”

John laughed, wrapping his arms around his stomach to brace himself. “Good call, buddy.”

Ronon nodded in satisfaction and slumped back on the opposite bench. He took a long swig from his canteen then gestured at John.

“What about you?”

John considered a moment, then grinned. “I’d want super fighting skills.”

This time, Teyla looked up at him in surprise. “I thought you would want the super flying skills.”

“I already have super flying skills.”

Ronon laughed. “Good call, buddy.”

Rodney held up a finger. “Our current predicament implies otherwise.”

“We’re alive, aren’t we?” John responded.

“Barely. For now.”

John glared at the scientist, but Ronon had turned his attention to Teyla. “What super power would you want?”

Teyla sighed, a long drawn-out, painful sound. “There are no superpowers that appeal to me.”

“You say that every time,” John said.

“And yet, we keep discussing this.”

Ronon was grinning again. He waved a hand vaguely in Teyla’s direction. “She just wants the outfit.”

Teyla shook her head, but John could see she was trying hard not to laugh. He smiled, and for the moment, all thoughts of his battered body and their predicament at the bottom of the lake were shoved to the back of his mind as he relaxed, surrounded by his teammates.

“I’d want to have…the ability to control the laws of physics,” Rodney finally answered.

Ronon rolled his eyes. “That’s lame.”

“Really?” Rodney leaned forward and snapped his fingers in front of Ronon’s face, the pop impressively loud. “Snap,” he said. “Gravity is off and you just floated off into space where you died of hypoxia and freezing temperatures.”

Ronon crossed his arms. “No, I didn’t. I have super flying powers.”

“Rodney died, though—no flying powers. Killed by his own genius,” John added.

Teyla laughed, then rose, stretching out her lower back and rubbing her neck. “I would like teleportation abilities, so that every time we have this conversation, I can disappear to another location at the mere thought.”

“That would also save you from Rodney’s superpower,” Ronon said.

John jerked a thumb at his chest. “And my super fighting skills.”

“And this crashed jumper,” Teyla said with a serene smile.

Rodney snapped his fingers again. “I changed my mind. I want teleportation skills.”

“Too late, Rodney. They are mine.”

John laughed at the look on Rodney’s face, like a kid who’d just been told he couldn’t have a second helping of dessert. Speaking of which, he grabbed his MRE and dug out the un-opened package of cookies.

“Here you go, Rodney. Consolation prize.”

Rodney caught the treat, ripping open the cookies with delight. “At least I’ll die a happy man.”

Ronon clapped the scientist on the shoulder and Teyla rolled her eyes again, but they were both laughing. Teyla moved around them, picking up the trash from their dinner and shoving it into a plastic sack.

“Alright, break’s over,” John said as Rodney popped the last of the cookies into his mouth. He leaned forward and pushed himself up, but only got a few inches off the bench before he doubled over with a groan. He collapsed back on the seat, his chest and stomach on fire.

“Crap,” he gasped, feeling the nausea in his gut surge.

Teyla was suddenly next to him, a warm hand on his shoulder. “What is wrong?”

“Don’t feel so hot.”

“Where does it hurt?”

John was gripping the edge of the bench to keep himself from pitching forward, but he let go for a few seconds and waved it his torso. “Stomach mostly, maybe chest,” he answered. “Hit that console pretty hard.”

Teyla’s grip on his shoulder tightened, pushing him backward. “You should get checked over.”

“Yeah, by a doctor,” John grunted, but he let her ease him back on the bench. He breathed slowly, clamping down on the pain and pushing it to the back of his mind. “Don’t have time for this,” he said. “Gotta help Rodney get us to the surface.”

“I’m afraid there’s not much more we can do,” Rodney said, hovering behind Teyla. John looked up at him, seeing the panic in his face. Ronon was still sitting on the bench, but he looked tense and ready to spring forward to catch John if he suddenly passed out.

 _Which might still happen,_ he thought with a frown.

“Unless…” Rodney held a finger up. “I might be able to rearrange the crystal array and bypass all but the drive pods that way. We’re talking about miniscule amounts of power that bleed off as it flows through each system, but it might be enough to work.”

John tensed again, intending to sit up, but Teyla pinned him back on the bench and shook her head. “Stay here. I will help Rodney.”

He opened his mouth to argue, then sighed in resignation. The pain had dialed back from excruciating to relentlessly throbbing, and he wasn’t sure he could stand up without help. “And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“Rest,” Teyla answered. “In case we have to swim.”

* * *

Rest was a joke. John slouched against the bench with his eyes closed, half listening to Rodney’s mutterings as he and Teyla fiddled under the hood—so to speak—of the jumper. Ronon puttered around the back at first, then grew quiet as he sprawled on the opposite bench. The pain in John’s chest had pulsed with every heart beat, but as the time ticked by, it slid down and took root in his stomach. He breathed slowly, his focus turned inward to keep a tight clamp on the pain.

“You look worse,” Ronon rumbled, drawing John’s attention away from his aching body. “You should get checked out.”

“Yeah,” John huffed. “By a doctor. On Atlantis.”

Ronon shook his head leaned forward. “You need first aid.”

“Whatever.”

John let his eyes slid closed, focusing again on getting a handle on the pain. He knew he’d hit the console hard, but he’d crashed enough times to know the pain of bruises faded after so many hours. Whatever was going on with him now was more than just a few deep bruises. He knew it, and yet he wanted to ignore it, to stay in denial for a little while longer.

“Hey,” Ronon said, suddenly next to him on the bench.

John jerked in surprised, then whimpered at the pain slashing across his gut. He squeezed his closed, swallowing desperately against the nausea.

“Oh, god,” he moaned. “It’s alive.”

“What is?”

“My sandwich. It wants back out.”

Ronon chuffed, slapping John’s knee in amusement as he shifted next to him. A second later, he was pressing his canteen into John’s hand.

“Water,” he said.

John peeled open his eyes and shook his head. “Not sure that’s a good idea.”

Ronon narrowed his eyes at him but took the canteen away. John heard him moving around again, then a bag unzipping, then the crinkle of plastic as he rifled through it. Whatever. John tightened his arms around his stomach and leaned his head against the side of the jumper. In an hour or two, Atlantis would call and they’d get this whole thing figured out.

Ronon moved again, and John sensed him kneeling in front of him. “John,” he whispered.

John blinked open his eyes and stared at him without moving his head.

“You’re in bad shape. Let me look.”

He didn’t wait for an acknowledgement or even permission, but John was too tired and too hurt to care. Ronon pulled his hands away easily, then unzipped his vest and unbuttoned his uniform top. When he started tugging at the t-shirt, John grabbed onto his wrist.

“What are you doing?”

“Calm down, Sheppard. We need to know how bad it is.”

“Last I checked you aren’t a doctor.”

But he gave in anyway—not that he could have stopped him—and let Ronon pull up his shirt and finger the bruises on his chest and stomach. He watched Ronon’s face, seeing the man’s eyebrows rise in surprise, then all expression leak from his face.

“That bad, huh?” John mumbled.

Ronon pulled the t-shirt back down and shrugged. “Bruising’s bad, stomach’s a little rigid. Could be bleeding inside.”

“Where’d you learn that?”

Ronon glanced up at the cockpit then back at John. “Beckett’s first aid class.” He stood and turned back to the back he’d been rifling through earlier, and John saw he’d spread out the contents of the jumper’s med kit on the opposite bench.

“Got any Ibuprofen?”

Ronon ignored him, digging through the supplies and turning back toward John with a stethoscope and a blood pressure cuff.

John’s eyebrows rose up toward his hairline. “Now what are you doing?”

“Checking your blood pressure.” He grabbed one of John’s arms and wrapped the cuff around it, squeezing it until it was almost painfully tight.

John stared at him in shock, lifting his head up to watch Ronon work. “You actually took a first aid class?”

Ronon said nothing for a minute, staring intently at the cuff. The pressure deflated suddenly and he ripped the cuff off before answering. “Had to,” he said with a shrug. “Everyone on offworld teams has to.”

“Right, I knew that… just didn’t know…” He let his voice trail off as Ronon stood and tossed the cuff on top of the other supplies.

“Blood pressure’s low,” Ronon said, standing up and reaching for something in the cargo nets above their heads. “You need an IV. Lay down.”

John didn’t move. “They teach you that in the first aid class?”

Ronon dug out a couple of wool blankets and folded one up, laying it at the end of the bench as a pillow. “Yep. Lay down.” He grabbed John’s arm, pulling him forward. John slid toward the middle of the bench, too surprised by Ronon’s sudden familiarity with all things medical to resist. Seconds later, Ronon had helped him out of his vest and was easing him to his side. John bit his lip, stifling the cry of pain the movement caused, and was so busy trying to breathe through the ignited pain that he didn’t notice Ronon approaching with a knife until he was kneeling next to him.

“What are you—” John started, then flinched when Ronon dropped it toward his arm. He gave John a half grin as he sliced through the arm of his uniform shirt, ripping the sleeve open past his elbow.

“Coulda taken the shirt off,” John growled, but now that he was lying down, there was no way he was getting up anytime soon. It hurt too damn much.

Ronon turned back to the med kit, returning with an IV kit. He set the bag on the back of the bench above John’s head, then ripped open an alcohol wipe and wiped the crook of John’s arm.

“Seriously, though. You really know how to start an IV?” John asked, feeling his heart rate pick up as Ronon tied a rubber strip around his bicep. He swallowed, trying to work some moisture into his mouth. “Have you ever done this before? Maybe Teyla should…”

“We practiced on each other in the class.”

“You passed, right?”

Ronon grunted. “Top grade on the test.”

John jerked in surprise. “Really?”

Ronon pulled out the needle, then looked at John, his expression guarded. “Everyone’s always surprised by that.”

John cringed, shaking his head. “I… I didn’t mean…”

“Done.”

It took a second for John to figure out what he meant, but he lifted his head and stared down at his arm as Ronon removed the needle from the IV catheter now stuck in his arm. “Wow,” he breathed out, genuinely impressed. “Didn’t even feel that, like at all. That was… really smooth.”

Ronon pulled off the rubber band tourniquet around his bicep and attached the saline bag, then shot John a smug grin. He grabbed a second blanket and covered him. “The IV will make you cold.”

John stared as Ronon hooked the IV bag to the netting above him. “Maybe next time you should go for super healing powers,” he whispered.

Ronon rolled his eyes. “Get some rest, Sheppard.”

* * *

John woke up to whispered voices at the front of the cockpit and a fire burning in his gut. He shivered, feeling beads of cold sweat drip off his face. Time had passed, but he had no idea how much. It could have minutes or hours—the lighting in the jumper was constant. He lifted his head an inch before dropping it back to the pillow.

The movement was enough to catch someone’s attention. He heard footsteps make their way toward him, then the soft rustle of clothing as someone knelt beside him.

“Sheppard?”

“Yeah. I’m awake,” he mumbled, looking up at Ronon’s concerned face. “We get in touch with Atlantis yet.”

“Not yet. Looks like we’re going to have to swim. McKay’s trying to figure out how to get the jumper door open—letting water in to equalize the pressure or something.” He paused, studying John’s face. “How’s your stomach?”

John shook his head, figuring the pain was evident on his face. The nausea was constant now, and he felt weak enough that sitting up was going to be a problem, let alone swimming however many feet it was to the surface of the lake. He let his eyes slide closed, giving in to the exhaustion only to be jarred awake by Ronon sliding a mask over his face.

“What’s this for?” he hissed, irritated. He pulled the mask away from his mouth to glare at his teammate.

“To help you breathe.”

“Not having trouble breathing.”

Ronon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked tired, and the bandage on his forehead was peeling away from his skin at the corners. “We have a long swim to the surface. You need all the breath you can get.”

“Don’t think it works that way,” John grouched.

Ronon didn’t answer, just slid the mask back over his face. Oxygen hissed through it, tickling John’s upper lip, and dammit if he didn’t feel a little bit better. Ronon fiddled with the now empty saline bag swinging above him, then pulled the IV out of his arm and pressed a small wad of gauze against the needle mark.

John turned his head away and closed his eyes, fighting off the urge to shiver. Maybe they should have swum for the surface when he’d been stronger. It was going to be a long enough swim individually, but now his team was going to have to drag him with them, requiring that much more effort and time underwater. He moved his hand to his stomach, holding the area that was most tender. The skin was hot to the touch despite the chilly feeling creeping through his joints.

Ronon finished his doctoring and returned to the front, and John ignored the soft whispering that erupted as soon as he approached. They were talking about him—about his weakness and his inability to swim. They’d never leave him—not that John wanted to be left—but if they got hurt or died because they were trying to help him…

He took a deep breath, pushing the thought out of his mind and opened his eyes. He wouldn’t let that happen. He would rest, like he was supposed to, build up his strength until they needed to swim. All he had to do was get to the surface—from there, his team could get him to the shoreline and figure out where the gate was. One lap underwater, roughly—that’s all he needed to do.

“Yeah, no problem, John,” he muttered, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh. He shivered again, and his gaze focused on the cargo netting above him as he wondered if the jumper had more blankets.

Then blinked. Directly above his head he saw spotted a vinyl duffel bag. The white lettering on the side was too far away to read but he knew what it was. He’d stuck it up there himself, and similar duffels in all of the jumpers just weeks after Rodney had crashed into the ocean. He pushed against the bench, trying to sit up, then choked on a scream.

“John!” Ronon was suddenly there next to him, pressing a hand into his forehead.

“S’okay,” he ground out. “Moved too fast again.”

He fought the urge to writhe and scream and concentrated on his breathing. Ronon pushed the blanket down and pulled his arms away from his stomach, then lifted the shirt again. John hissed at his friend’s gentle prodding and finally slapped his arm away. “Stop,” he muttered.

“What’s up?” Ronon said, pulling the blanket back over him.

John opened his eyes and pointed up at the cargo net. “Up there.”

“What?”

“Forgot about them.”

Ronon stood and pulled the vinyl duffel out. “This? What is this?”

John pulled the oxygen mask off and smiled. “Inflatable emergency raft. Put them in all the jumpers after McKay’s crash into the ocean.”

Ronon grinned, turning the bulky bag over in his hands. “We can bring it with us when we swim to the surface.”

“Even better. Has a canister of compressed gas, so it will inflate underwater and float to the surface on its own.”

“Will it take us to the surface?” Ronon asked.

John shook his head. “Too risky. Could get hurt, and all of our weight might be too much to drag us up.” He glanced over at the med kit still spread out over the bench and waved a hand toward it. “It will take some weight though—like a bag of supplies. Food, weapons, radios—anything that still works.”

Ronon snapped the mask back over John’s face then clapped him on the shoulder. “On it.”

* * *

John dozed off again halfway through Ronon’s packing, but it felt like moments later that someone was shaking him awake. He opened his eyes to see Teyla crouched next to him, with Rodney and Ronon standing behind her. The raft had been pulled out of its vinyl bag, but it was still folded up. Next to it, the med kit bag was packed full and sealed shut, attached to one edge of the raft duffel.

“Ready?” John whispered.

At Teyla’s nod, he pushed the blanket off of him. She grabbed his arms and helped him up, but he was still breathing hard from the effort. He pulled the oxygen mask off his face and tossed it to the side. In a few minutes, it wasn’t going to be much help to him. Ronon sat on the other side of John and looked up at Rodney.

“Okay,” the physicist started. “I can control how fast the water leaks in, but basically the jumper has to fill up completely to equalize the pressure before we can open the doors and swim for the surface.” He paused, ringing his hands. “I mentioned how claustrophobic I am, and my fear of drowning. And an adverseness to cold in general?”

“We’ll make it,” Ronon said.

“I’m not a strong swimmer. The surface is…”

“Like swimming the length of a pool underwater,” John finished, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. On a good day, he could do it without batting an eye, but today had been anything but good.

“I should go out first and inflate the raft,” Teyla said, standing up and examining the raft and supply bag on the other bench.

John ducked his head toward Ronon. “I’m not sure if I can swim…”

“I got your back, buddy.”

He shook his head. “Don’t drown because of me.”

“Not planning on it,” Ronon said, squeezing his shoulder.

Rodney had pulled out his handheld scanner, which had apparently survived their side-swipe by the EM pulse. “The water will be cold. We should try to stay out of it as long as possible. Climb on the benches or something.”

He glanced around, waiting for the go-ahead from the rest of the team. John took in a deep breath, steeling himself for what was about to come. “Let’s do it.”

They climbed up on the benches, and it wasn’t until water was rushing into the jumper that John realized his boots were gone. He scowled. He’d just broken those ones in and now he’d need a new pair. Water splashed up, soaking through his socks and he cringed. Rodney had been right. The water was freezing.

As soon as the water level hit the seats on the benches, it stopped flowing into the jumper. John looked up at Rodney, wondering what they were waiting for.

“Slow, remember?” Rodney responded to his unasked questions, and he sounded slightly hysterical. “We’re taking it slow.”

“We are ready,” Teyla said, laying a hand on Rodney’s arm.

“Let’s do this, McKay,” Ronon added, wrapping an arm around John’s waist.

The water began to pour in again, and the level rose quickly. John gasped as it hit his ankles, starting to shake almost immediately. He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to move by the time the cold water filled the jumper, let alone swim. Ronon tightened his grip on John’s waist.

“We can do this,” he said.

With only two feet of air left, Rodney held his finger up in the air. “I changed my mind about my superpower. I want the ability to breathe underwater and be impervious to the cold.”

Ronon slapped the surface with one hand. “I want my feet to turn into flippers.”

“I st-still want s-super fi-fighting skills,” John said between chattering teeth.

“Everyone ready?” Rodney called out, his eyes opened wide in fear.

John breathed in deeply, building up the oxygen levels in his lungs for all the good it would do him, and noticed his teammates doing the same thing. With only inches left, Rodney opened the door the rest of the way. Through the hazy murk lit up by the jumper lights, John saw Teyla kick off for the door, holding the raft in front of her. Rodney followed her, and a second later, Ronon tugged on him, guiding him out the still-opening hatch.

He kicked as hard as he could, fighting the reflex to gasp and scream in agony as the movement ignited pain all through his midsection. Once they were out of the jumper, he couldn’t see anything, and it was only Ronon’s continued tugging that let him know which way was up. He felt himself flagging almost immediately, and then a hand grabbed his other arm and pulled hard.

 _Teyla,_ he thought. He kicked haphazardly but his stomach felt like it was slowly ripping apart, that if he kicked too hard, his upper body would detach entirely. He was vaguely aware of moving through the water, but the dark was endless.

He held on for as long as he could, then instinct overrode reason and he opened his mouth to breathe. Water rushed in, burning down his throat and into his lungs, but he felt his head break the surface at almost the exact same instant. He bucked, feeling the hands on his arms tighten painfully.

“Sheppard!”

The scream in his ear ripped the darkness away, and John jerked, flailing on the surface of the water. He choked, coughing up the mouthful of water he’d swallowed.

“That’s it, buddy,” Ronon said.

It was lighter on the surface, the moonlight reflecting off the black lake. He heard splashing nearby, and Teyla’s grasp on his arm was suddenly gone. He dipped in the water, but Ronon was still there, pulling him closer and holding his head above the surface. John coughed again, his body a mass of pain.

“Rodney?” Teyla called out.

“Here,” he answered. He sounded close, maybe a few feet away and the cause of most of the splashing sounds. “Got the raft.”

Within minutes, John felt hands digging under his shoulders, pulling him up onto the raft. His arms and legs flopped as they maneuvered him onto the boat, and then his head was in Teyla’s lap, her hand brushing his hair back as she whispered encouragement. He heard Ronon pull their bag of supplies out of the water and then they all relaxed for a moment, breathing hard.

“Lost another jumper,” Rodney finally said. “They’re going to start docking our pay if this keeps up.”

“We get paid?” Ronon asked.

Teyla leaned over John, whispering in his ear. “How are you doing?”

“C-cold,” he rasped out. Shudders ran through his body, and he moaned in response. Teyla said something else, but the effort to listen was too much and he let himself zone out. He heard something about drying off and emergency blankets, and then hands were peeling away his wet clothes. He relaxed, not caring what happened now. He’d made it to the surface and he smiled, overcome with a deep satisfaction—his entire team had made it safely to the surface.

Despite the urging of his teammates to stay awake, he let his eyes close, and all sound faded away as he drifted asleep.

* * *

“Colonel Sheppard?”

The voice pierced the darkness and John turned away with a groan. The last thing he remembered was all-consuming cold, but for the moment, he was warm and he intended to stay that way.

“Colonel?” the voice called out again, a little louder. He felt a hand shake his arm, drawing him closer to the surface. “Doctor Keller, he’s waking up.”

Surface. They were underwater, trapped, and he needed to get to the surface. He needed to get his team to the surface. He felt his stomach twinge and a steady beep above his head picked up speed.

“Come on, Colonel. I know you can hear me.”

He knew that voice, but… He shook his head. She hadn’t been there in the jumper.

“John, open your eyes.”

Another hand grabbed his arm, squeezing and shaking at the same time, and the fingers were cold.

“Ss-stopp…’tt…” he muttered.

“I need you to wake up for me a little first.”

He sighed, knowing she wouldn’t go away until he obeyed. He’d done this dance a few times before. He forced his eyes to open, taking in the blurry figure of Keller and the blue-gray hues of Atlantis behind her.

“Home?”

“Yes, Colonel. You’re all home and safe now.”

She smiled, but she still looked blurry, and most of her expression was lost on John. The first voice asked Keller something, then moved around the bed, taking his vitals while the doctor studied the screen next to him.

“Everything’s looking good,” she said after a moment, and even in John’s dazed state, he heard her relief. She turned to face him, patting him on the arm. “You had a bit of internal bleeding but the surgery went well. It’ll be a painful few days, but you’ll recover just fine.”

“Okay,” John answered, smiling. His head felt loose, like it was going to slide off his neck, but he was warm and his chest and stomach no longer hurt. “Wwaaittt,” he slurred. “Gonnaffallll.”

“You’re fine, Colonel. Safe in bed,” Keller said, squeezing his fingers for a brief moment, and John felt the bed solidly underneath him. “Nicole, let’s move him out of recovery to the main bay before the rest of his team drives the entire staff insane.”

John sighed deeply, feeling suddenly a little giddy. His team. Safe. He closed his eyes and patted his stomach, relishing the lack of pain and lack of cold, and let himself float away as the bed began to roll.

* * *

“If I could have any superpower, I think I’d go with telekinesis—the ability to move things with my mind,” Rodney suddenly announced.

John glanced up from his cards, careful to keep his face neutral. Rodney was sitting to his right and staring mournfully at the extra slice of pie just out of reach on John’s tray table that one of the nurses had dropped off for John, and which was now part of the pot for their poker game.

Teyla groaned. “We are not talking about this again.”

“I want those blades that come out of your fists, like Wolverine,” Ronon said. “And invisibility.”

“You can’t have two superpowers,” Rodney snapped, tossing two cards into the discard pile with a sigh.

“Why not?”

“It’s a trope of the genre. One superpower per person.”

Ronon scowled, discarding one card, then smiling when he looked at the new one he’d grabbed. “Teyla, you can be that woman who leaps over buildings in a single bound.”

John narrowed his eyes. Ronon was too good at poker to smile like that. He had to be bluffing. He shifted, feeling his gut twinge a little at the movement.

“That was a great outfit,” Rodney said.

“I do not want any superpowers,” Teyla said, discarding one card. “Or any outfits.”

John picked up two new card and glanced at them quickly, then scanned everyone else’s faces. Rodney was staring at the pie again, Teyla at her cards, Ronon at him.

Definitely bluffing.

“Water?” he asked, letting his cards drop to his chest. He shifted again, wincing at the incision. Even minor surgery hurt like a bitch.

Ronon looked suddenly suspicious, but he leaned over and poured a glass of water for John.

“How long are you off duty anyway?” Rodney asked.

John sipped at the water, letting the glass shake in his hand a little. Ronon grabbed it before he dropped it, and John went back to innocently studying his cards. Would his team take advantage of a sick, weak, bedridden man? Teyla wouldn’t, but Ronon would. Rodney would too, but more out of not noticing that John was suddenly playing up the sick man role.

“Jennifer said you would be in the infirmary for a couple of days, then off duty for a week or so.”

“Unless there’s complications,” John added. “Infection, sepsis, heart attack.”

Ronon rolled his eyes. “Your turn, McKay.”

“You’ll be back to crashing jumpers in a few weeks,” Rodney said. “I call.”

John pointed at Rodney. “Rapid yet controlled descent,” and then Ronon, “three nines.” He laid his cards out in front of him with a flourish. “And I still want super fighting skills.”

“That is not a super power. That is just a matter of practicing,” Teyla responded.

“Kick a man while he’s down, why don’t you?”

Teyla laughed. “You are right. I will save that for when we are sparring.” She lay her cards face down with a sigh. “I fold.”

“Flush, eight high,” Rodney said. He leaned forward, waiting for Ronon to reveal his hand but looking like he already knew what was coming. They really needed to stop playing poker with the resident genius.

“Dammit,” Ronon muttered, tossing his cards across the bed.

Rodney grinned, grabbing the pie and digging in. He leaned back, throwing his feet up on the end of John’s bed. “So…best movie villain ever?”

“I am going to stretch my legs,” Teyla said. She stood and stretched, then padded off across the infirmary.

“I’m going with…Voldermort,” Rodney continued.

“Voldermort?” John laughed. “What are you, twelve?”

“Fine then. Khan.”

“Star Trek?”

“Darth Vader,” Ronon answered.

“No way.” John shook his head. “The Joker. Or Hannibal Lector.”

Rodney nodded, his eyes growing distant. “Oh, good call. That movie freaked me out.”

Ronon looked between them, frowning. “What movie?”

“We haven’t showed you Silence of the Lambs yet?”

“Oh, man,” Rodney said, jumping up. “I’ll be right back. Lorne’s got the director’s cut of that movie.”

“Bring junk food,” John called out.

“Yeah, lots of junk food,” Ronon added. He slid John’s table tray down to the foot of the bed, then opened Rodney’s laptop, preparing for the impromptu movie night. “I’ll get Teyla.”

He left, and John leaned back, resting his head in his hands and squirming until he found a comfortable position. He was getting tired, and probably wouldn’t stay awake through the whole show, but he couldn’t think of a better way to spend an evening than surrounded by his team.

END


End file.
